Page 27 of Of Lies and Earls (Inglorious Scoundrels #2)

H is hands clutching Honoria’s waist, Jacob took her breast into his mouth and sucked deeply. How good it felt to have her in his arms again—to taste her skin, to breathe in her scent.

He’d missed her so terribly. And to think he’d believed he could spend years without her, when he’d nearly gone mad after three measly weeks.

Her fingers plunged into his hair as she gasped, arching her back, pulling him closer.

“Yes,” she whispered breathlessly. “Yes, more.”

As he continued to lavish attention on her breasts, his hands moved lower, clutching her skirts, pulling them up. His fingers caressed the silky skin he uncovered with reverence.

“Jacob,” she gasped.

“Honoria,” he breathed against her skin, gooseflesh rising beneath his mouth, her nipples hardening from his breath. “My love. My heart.”

He licked her nipple, and she moaned, thrusting her hips forward, her knee hooking over his hip. With one hand, he grabbed her thigh, holding her closer, while the other explored higher—his fingers finding her slick center, teasing her folds, then plunging into her wet heat.

Her hips bucked, her fingers tightening in his hair. He thrust his fingers inside her, mimicking the rhythm of passion, while his mouth continued to worship her breasts.

Her hips moved in time with his hand, pulling him deeper, her clit grinding against the heel of his palm.

She writhed against him, frantic, her breathing choppy and uneven.

“Yes, my heart,” he whispered. “Use my body. Take your pleasure.”

She came with a loud cry, her body clenching tightly around his fingers. One hand dug into his shoulder while the other fisted in his hair.

Jacob grinned. “Good girl.”

She looked down at him, her eyes clouded with desire.

Jacob straightened, removed his jacket, and laid it on the banister behind her.

She raised questioning eyes to his, but he only grabbed her hips and lifted her, setting her down atop the jacket.

He stepped between her thighs, raising her skirts to reveal her, and she immediately began tugging at his shirt, frantically pulling it off. As soon as she succeeded, her mouth was on his—licking, kissing, biting.

His hand returned to her center, his fingers circling her swollen nub, making her breath hitch. Her hands trailed down his torso, leaving heat in their wake.

Then her fingers found the falls of his breeches, undoing them and freeing his cock. She wrapped her fingers around him, and they both gasped.

Jacob looked into her eyes and saw raw need.

“Take me,” she whispered. “Now. Hard.”

He obliged, entering her in one hard thrust. She cried out, her head falling back, her fingers flexing around his shoulders.

He gripped her hips tightly as he drove into her with exquisite force. She moaned each time their bodies met, digging into his skin—the slight pain only deepening his pleasure.

He withdrew, and she whimpered, reaching for him. But he lifted her from the banister, then turned her to face the dark gardens below. His mouth on her neck, one hand trailed down her belly to the place he longed to fill again.

His fingers played with her there, making her gasp and tremble. Just as he felt her tense in his arms, he thrust into her once more.

He worked her swollen core while pounding into her with renewed urgency. The sounds of their bodies slapping, her cries and whimpers, his gasps—all of it fueled the rising pressure inside him.

It built and collected inside him until it finally burst with violent force.

* * *

Jacob covered Honoria with his jacket, not only to keep her warm but also to conceal the gaping tear in her bodice.

“If you continue doing that,” Honoria said quietly, “the modiste will have enough work just from mending my gowns.”

He let out a chuckle. “Perhaps she should design one better, so I don’t have to. Add buttons to the front, perhaps?”

Honoria laughed. A gorgeous sound. He’d missed it so much.

Jacob brushed a lock of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Are you ready to go home now?”

“Mmm.” She let out a pleasant rumbling sound and buried her face in his bare chest. “No.”

He chuckled. “Children are waiting for you.”

“Aren’t they supposed to be sleeping at this hour?” she murmured against his skin.

“I think today is the exception.”

She grinned and tilted her head up. “Yes, I want to go home. I missed them very much.”

“And they you,” he whispered, then caught her lips in a brief kiss.

He looked around, hunting for his shirt, then finally found it and began putting it on under Honoria’s watchful gaze, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

“What?” he asked, raising a brow.

“I like watching you dress.”

“You like seeing me cover up my body?”

She laughed. “No. I like seeing your shoulders shrug into the confines of your shirt. I like watching your fingers work the buttons. I could watch you do that all night.”

He let out a huff. “I’m sure we can find better things to do all night.”

She grinned, then stepped closer, her hands trailing up his abdomen to rest on his chest. Rising on tiptoes, she kissed his lips.

He drew her closer, unwilling to let go.

“Where’s your waistcoat?” she asked against his mouth.

Jacob laughed. “Really? That’s what you’re thinking about? At home. I forgot to put it on in my haste to get to you.”

She looked away, her expression troubled.

“What?”

“I appreciate what you’re doing for me, Jacob, more than you know. But I worry about the children. The next few years won’t be easy on them.”

He let out a breath. “I know. I thought about it all the way here, and I think that maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“Perhaps we should consider sending Elise to Florence for her season. She might be better off abroad, away from prying eyes. I’m sure there’s a gentlemen’s school there for Robbie, too. They’d be under the watchful eye of Lady Somerville while we sort things out here. And whenever we can, we’ll visit them. And then…” He paused.

“And then?”

“When you’re free of that cockchafer, we can move there. Somewhere no one knows us.”

Her face lit up with a brilliant smile that almost blinded him. “I love you,” she said.

His heart pounded violently at the words.

He’d hoped she loved him… Hoped she reciprocated his feelings, but hearing it from her lips… There was no better feeling.

He took her hand and kissed her fingers. “Let’s go home.”

They left the house a few minutes later. They couldn’t find the hosts to bid farewell, so Jacob simply asked Drake to pass on his gratitude. He thanked his friend for protecting Honoria in his absence, and then they made their way outside.

When they were only a few feet from the carriage, a shadow appeared before them.

Not a shadow—Bradshaw, blocking their path. Honoria squeezed Jacob’s hand, her body starting to tremble.

“Get out of our way,” Jacob warned.

Bradshaw took in Honoria’s disheveled appearance, Jacob’s coat hugging her shoulders, and sneered. “Caldwell, have you been harboring my dear wife all this time?”

“It’s none of your business.” Jacob made to pass him, but Bradshaw blocked their path.

“Have you been fucking her?” Bradshaw barked.

Jacob shielded Honoria with his body, her hand still in his. “You’d better leave. Now.”

“She is still my wife, Caldwell. Not yours. She belongs to me.”

“And you belong to the gallows. Yet here we are.”

Bradshaw lunged, but Jacob stepped forward, a hand to the man’s chest, keeping him away from Honoria.

“Hart, get in the carriage,” he commanded.

“But—”

“Just get inside.”

Honoria’s hand slipped from his grasp, and she hurried into the carriage.

“You don’t want to stand between me and my wife, Caldwell,” Bradshaw gritted. “Or you’re going to earn yourself an invitation at dawn.”

Jacob raised a brow. “Then do it—and be done with it.”

He half expected Bradshaw to back down, but the man’s pride wouldn’t let him. He straightened. “Name your second.”

“Lucien Drake,” Caldwell called.

Bradshaw huffed and finally stepped back. “I’ll be in touch then.” As he turned to leave, he cast a leering glance toward Honoria and muttered, “This isn’t over.”

Jacob was tempted to shoot him right there in the street. But he restrained himself and climbed into the carriage beside Honoria.

“What did he say to you?” she asked.

Jacob wasn’t about to tell her about the duel. He didn’t want to worry her more than she already was.

“Just the usual threats. Nothing to worry about,” he said instead. “Are you ready to go?”

She nodded and relaxed against the seat. “Yes, please. I want to go home.”

Home. He smiled.

He was taking her home.

* * *

Honoria was happy to be back home, in the safety of Caldwell Manor, surrounded by people she loved and who loved her in return.

The children had spent the days since her return practically hanging off her skirts, especially after Lady Somerville left for Florence. Their faces, alight with joy at her presence, helped ease the burden of what lay ahead.

In the days following the Tyrone ball, they had all been forced to stay indoors, gossip pounding at their doors. Newspapers arrived daily with constant references to the scandal, and neighbors’ carriages slowed conspicuously when passing their gates. It was impossible to escape, impossible to hide from—and it would remain that way for years.

Obtaining a divorce as a woman was not the easiest thing in the world.

No, no. It was the hardest thing in the world.

There needed to be at least two extenuating reasons, adultery being one of them—something Honoria could prove. She searched for every mistress Bradshaw had ever had and, with Lydia’s help, had found at least six.

Next was cruelty.

Bradshaw’s servants would never testify against him, and Lydia would have to out herself as a thief if she took the stand, so Honoria was left hoping the villagers who had seen her after she escaped with Lydia would come forward.

Caldwell had sent his men to find those villagers and obtain sworn statements from them, if possible.

His second wife, who was now free of his shackles, had also agreed to testify against him on this point.

Other circumstances might help her case. For example, Bradshaw hadn’t waited the legally required seven years to declare her dead. He had likely bribed people to sign her death certificate. He remarried knowing she was not officially deceased.

Other small infractions could pile up in her favor. Now she needed to prove it all in court. The proceedings would take years, so there was no need to rush.

For now, they were enjoying their time in their cozy little home—just their family—playing games, having long dinners, and chatting late into the night.

There was one reason, however, why Honoria was endlessly worried about the timeline of the proceedings.

She had missed her menses. Twice .

It could have been just nerves. It had happened before, except she had other symptoms, too: tender breasts, nausea at any smell she deemed too sharp for her senses.

How could it be?

She had spent seven years with Bradshaw—and then, after only a few encounters with Jacob, she had become with child?

Happiness and worry warred inside her. Her hand drifted unconsciously to her still-flat stomach as she lay in bed.

She didn’t want to give birth to this child while still married to Bradshaw. She didn’t know how it would affect the proceedings. Would the child be considered the earl’s heir? A bastard?

Her stomach churned, and she pressed her hands to it tightly, as if she could shield the tiny life growing within from the complexities of the world it would enter.

She needed to talk to Jacob—to tell him of her suspicions, confirm them with a doctor…

Jacob entered the room, his hair still damp from washing. He had gone to clean up after long hours of lovemaking. He returned not in his nightshirt as she’d expected, but wearing his riding attire.

Honoria frowned and sat up in bed, clutching the sheets closer to her naked form. The candles flickered in the draft from the door, casting his face in shadow.

“Why are you dressed? Is something the matter?”

“Yes,” he said simply, fastening his gloves, avoiding her eyes.

“What is it?” Alarm coursed through her as she studied his grim expression.

“I have to leave now for…” He paused, his jaw tightening before he finally met her gaze. “A duel.”